


Unarmed and Loaded

by tsukinofaerii



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 16:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2075727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukinofaerii/pseuds/tsukinofaerii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very unexpected visitor takes Tony by surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unarmed and Loaded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hotrodngold (Krystalicekitsu)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/gifts).



> Hotrodngold had a birthday request!... and I utterly failed. D: Bucky is not a character who is usually in my grab bag, though Sunspot was brilliance in editing. This is my second attempt, which is hopefully less horrid, and hopefully will work!
> 
> Happy somewhat belated birthday. _I tried._ I'm just going to go burrow away now...

"Mr. Stark, there's a... rather unkempt person here to see you. I don't know how he got past security. Would you like me to send him away?" 

Tony swiveled around in his office chair, looking up from the Atlanta skyline to peer at his assistant Bambi with narrowed eyes. It was a look he'd been working on for a while, and if her complete lack of reaction was anything to go by, it still needed some work. She didn't flinch, frown or even slightly nervous; she just stood there in her perfectly pressed suit, coifed gray hair and conservative manicure, looking like she should be the one behind the desk and him the one getting coffee. _Damn it_. How did Fury—

That thought brought him up short with a sudden, sharp pang that he refused to admit was grief. Fury'd been a dangerous man, living a dangerous life. It had been only a matter of time before someone even more dangerous got to him. If he'd known Tony was being sentimental about him, he'd have thought it was hilarious. More reason not to be. 

Bambi was still looking at him expectantly. He sighed. "Alright, who is it? CIA, FBI, another SHIELD runaway? Unkempt, you say? It's SHIELD, isn't it?" He kicked his feet up onto the desk. The stare might not have worked, but _that_ never failed to get him a wince. 

Just like always, it worked. She glared at the bottom of his shoes in a way that should have been weaponized. "While I find it very unlikely for his age and... condition, he says he knew your father."

Tony froze. Bambi stood like a rock, though he could see her hand tightening around the door knob, which was a sort of success. Except he suddenly didn't care. 

It wouldn't have been the first time people with connections to his parents had sought him out. Usually it was for money, or a favor of some sort. A job, a word in the right ear, an appearance at some charity event. He had a cousin who stuck his hand out like clockwork. It'd been a while, and it probably wasn't worth his time, but... 

"Yeah, go ahead and send him in," he decided with a wave, leaning back in his chair as far as it would let him and adjusting it to sit a little higher. Ergonomic, memory foam, completely adjustable, he could have slept in it. One of his best all-nighters ever. 

Bambi sniffed disapprovingly, but vanished out into the lobby. A few seconds later, enter: a hobo. 

Tony's eyebrows rose in disbelief. _Unkempt_ was not the word. Utter disaster was closer. And Tony was allowed to say that, because he'd been an utter disaster more than a few times in his life. The man was a filthy mess in a threadbare trench coat and a holey sweater, gloves that looked like they'd been badly patched together from three other pairs of gloves, and boots with soles that flopped when he took a step. His hair was mostly hidden under a stocking cap, but if the stubble on his face was any guide it'd be dirty brown. 

He also set off every single _danger danger danger_ instinct Tony had ever developed since Afghanistan. That was a lot of instincts to set off. 

"Hold it right there, buddy." He pointed a finger, and was gratified to see the guy stop in his tracks. There was something there, something about the way he stood, the way his shoulders filled out the trench coat, a slight bulge where there was almost definitely a gun, and how the hell had he gotten past security? What good was hiring former we're-not-actually-SHIELD-agents-we-swear if they let someone like _this_ through?

Not for the first time, he wished he'd had JARVIS installed in his Atlanta offices so he could get a second opinion. But JARVIS was a major installation process, and Tony was—technically—lying low. If he weren't, he never would have been in Atlanta. 

Finally, he kicked his feet off the desk and planted them firmly on the floor, ready to run if he had to. Which he might have to. "If you're here to talk to me about the Avengers Initiative, you're too late. Someone already beat you to it, and can I just say, he was way better dressed. The homeless look isn't working for you."

The man twitched, gritting his teeth. He did not, however, immediately reach for his gun, which was always a good sign. "I need your help."

"No, what you need is to take that gun off and unload it." Tony flicked his fingers, indicating the whole general puzzle that was in front of him. "I'll make you a deal. You disarm, and I won't call up my suit to kick your ass." After a bit of consideration, he added, "Probably." Pepper had been after him to be more honest, after all. 

Another twitch, that was what Tony liked to see in people who crashed his lack of party. But the man obediently shrugged out of his trench, draping it over the back of the visitor's chair. The guns— _plural_ guns and damn was Tony going to sic Happy on some people—were unloaded and set on the desk. Then came the knives, followed by some smoke bombs. Grenades. EMP emitters. A garrote.

And then he stripped off his sweater. 

"Jesus Christ on a pogo stick," Tony groaned, swiveling around in a circle as soon as he saw that even more knives were strapped to the man's stomach. "What the hell are you, a walking armory? My _armor_ has less metal. How the—" His chair finished its circle and he yanked to a sharp stop. " _Hell_." 

The man finished spreading his under-sweater arsenal over the desk, left arm gleaming metal under fluorescent office lights. He flexed it, rolling the shoulder where a web of scar tissue connected the technological to the biological. "I can't disarm this. Sorry." 

"No you're not." Tony let out a shaky breath, looking up to meet the man's eyes. The _Winter Soldier's_ eyes. Probably. Almost definitely. There couldn't be that many people running around with bionic limbs like that. At least, there had better not be, Tony had shareholders to take care of. "You have my attention and three minutes to keep it before I call for backup and we rumble. You told my secretary that you knew my father."

He nodded, shifting his weight a little, balancing on the balls of his feet, rocking back. Tony could see exactly how much effort it was for him not to stay balanced and ready to attack. He appreciated it, even if it did make him sweat. "A long time ago. Back in the war. Right now, I need a favor, and I need it without anyone calling SHIELD or Captain America."

"SHIELD's been disbanded," Tony asked, mouth on autopilot while his brain raced ahead. "For a couple months now. Since the whole thing with Hydra and, well, you."

"Yeah, I'm sure an organization run by Nick Fury and infiltrated by Hydra is disbanded." Miles and miles of sleek, slightly sweaty, very scarred flesh rose and fell as the man crossed his arms. "That seems likely." 

"La la la, SHIELD's disbanded, and if you bring in a camera I'll say it again except louder and with more conviction," Tony repeated, miming sticking his fingers in his ears. "But why would someone call Steve? He's not exactly the vindictive sort. Believe me, it's come up a few times. Unless..." Leaning back, Tony brought up his hands to frame the image in front of him and did a quick reevaluation. Take out the stubble and dirt, a couple dozen pounds of muscle, trim the hair... "No, I still don't have any idea who you are, sorry."

With a pose and drama that seemed to come naturally from villains, Tony's visitor said, "As far as I can tell, my name is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. I don't remember much else. Just that." 

After a long, breathless pause, Tony said, "Wow," verbally marching to the front lines of the conversation. "That's just—wow." 

"I know they said you were a genius like your dad, but it's good to see it in person," Barnes snorted.

"Hey, I'm being overrun with vintage World War Two antiques, let's see you do better." Leaning back in his chair, Tony stared up at the ceiling and re-reevaluated. He could actually see the pieces connect, if he squinted. Most of the old reels and photos his dad had held on to didn't focus on Barnes, but he was in a couple of them. Enough of them. "Alright, truce. Sit down and tell me what you need." Barnes started to pull out a chair, and Tony added, "Ah, away from the weapons, please?"

The look Barnes shot him belonged on a cat getting spoiled cream, but he pulled the chair away before sitting. "You think a few feet is going to help if I decide to kill you?"

"I think it'll make me feel better until you do." Honesty was occasionally a useful policy, he'd have to tell Pepper that. "So what do you need from me? Other than to not immediately turn you in to the federal authorities?"

Barnes got that same thousand-yard stare that Steve did when he was remembering something he really didn't want to. "Hydra had me captive for... a long time," he explained slowly. "I don't know what they did, but I'm having episodes. Blackouts. I need someone who can keep me contained while I recover, or deal with me if I can't." 

Tony hummed. There was a lot there that wasn't being said. He really wished he'd had JARVIS. Or even Romanov. But Natasha was probably off-limits, if this was a no-SHIELD operation. Which— "And you don't want to tell your childhood best friend because...?" 

"Because if I have to be put down, I'm not going to make Steve be the one to do it."

There really wasn't much arguing with that. 

Pushing up out of his chair, Tony started pacing behind his desk, deliberating, trying to convince himself that he hadn't already made a decision. There were legal and political logistics to consider. The Winter Soldier was a wanted terrorist and assassin, but James Buchanan Barnes was a war hero... Not to mention the whole problem of containment, the inevitable damage if containment measures failed. His lock down in LA was probably still there, but...

Flipping around on a heel, Tony held up his two index fingers, tips pressed together. "I'll do it. _But_." He dipped his fingers, pointing directly at the pock-marked, visibly dinged metal arm. The arm that was supposedly even better than his own work, even though it was fifty year old Nazi work. "I want that. Rights to study, patent rights if we can figure out how it works." Barnes' face actually lost expression, which Tony hadn't thought would be possible for a stone wall. "Come on, you're going to need to know how it works anyway. You'd rather ask the army?" 

Barnes stared at him, fingers twitching. Probably for a gun, with Tony's luck. But rather than go straight for the weapons, he said, "We split the profits. Fifty-fifty."

"Eighty-twenty." 

"Sixty-thirty." As soon as Tony opened his mouth, Barnes added, "And ten percent to charity."

Not for the first time, he had the greasy sensation that capitalism had taken a wrong turn and he was looking at everything that it wasn't supposed to be. "It's like bargaining with Steve," Tony muttered under his breath, rubbing his face. 

A shrug. "Steve was terrible at bargaining. Too nice." 

That sounded like him. "Fine, you've got a deal." Tony cut around the desk, patting Barnes' metal arm as he passed. "You stay here and try not to murder anyone. I've got to go make arrangements." 

There was just enough of a shift in Barnes' expression to make it smug. He sank deeper into the chair and crossed an ankle over his knee. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere." 

Tony stared for a second before turning and walking out. Pepper was going to _kill_ him.


End file.
